


Room Of Cheap White Wine

by Petronia



Category: Final Fantasy VII, Vagrant Story, Weiss Kreuz
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-05-16
Updated: 2003-05-16
Packaged: 2017-10-05 19:44:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/45418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Petronia/pseuds/Petronia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reno and Schuldig fight zombies in Lea Monde, your argument is invalid.  A later episode of the Open/Close continuity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Room Of Cheap White Wine

The door swung closed behind them with a muted click. Schuldich gazed around cautiously. They were in a high-ceilinged, fairly wide brick hall, piled high with a maze of crates and wooden trellises; torches burned in sconces on the walls, their flickering light barely holding the shadows in check. The air stank of old rot and mildew.

"Goth as fuck," he said, half aloud. The atmospherics were not reassuring, but the room itself seemed empty. He took a few steps forward, into a narrow corridor formed by walls of crates that rose above his head on either side. Each footfall made a cloud of dust rise from the flagstone floor, and he stifled a sneeze. Reno followed, tucking his nightstick back into his belt after a momentary hesitation. He carried the black box carefully in his other hand.

"I think we're underground," he said. "I can see the other door, it's high up on the opposite wall. We're going to need a ladder to get out."

"It's a wine cellar," Schuldich said, spotting the telltale gleam of dark glass through a gap in the nearest crate. He stepped up to it, gripped the plank and pulled; it was soft with damp and broke easily in his hands, splintering freely. "Ow. Fuck..."

"No shit, eh?" Reno reached in with his free hand and withdrew a bottle by the neck, glancing at the label briefly before passing it to Schuldich. "Can you read this?"

The paper was grey with dust. Schuldich rubbed his thumb over it, peered at what appeared to be faded calligraphy ink. "_Vin de pays de Léa Monde, sauvignon blanc._ Huh. Guess we're in France."

"That a good thing?" Reno tried gingerly to reach into another crate.

"Well, it shows we're getting clo--"

_BRAAAIIIINSSS_

Schuldich froze. "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

_BRAAAAAAIIIIIIIIINNNSSSSSS_

Schuldich was glancing around wildly, but found his immediate field of vision severely curtailed on three sides. "Okay," he said. "Okay, this is _not_ cool--"

_FLEEEEESSSHHHHHUUUNGER_

Schuldich sidled twitchily toward the open space they'd come from, clutching the wine bottle as if it were a weapon. Reno straightened and placed a hand on his nightstick, the paranoia in the other man's stance filtering through. "Hey, what's--"

A _creature_ shambled into the opening between crates, coming nearly face to face with Schuldich, who yelled and jumped back. It could have been human once, tatters of clothing clinging to its torso still, but its flesh was a maggoty, putrid gray, features bloated as to be indistinguishable. It reached for Schuldich, ersatz mouth gaping in hunger, and a wave of grave-stench accompanied the psychic moan that reverberated in his inner ear.

_FOOOOOOOOOOOD_

Schuldich smashed the bottle over its head. Wine and bits of dead flesh sprayed everywhere. The creature roared, reeling, then reached for him again. Schuldich dodged the clumsy move, spun – cursing fulsomely – and caught it in the back with a roundhouse kick. Rotted organs squished beneath his heel, the sickening crunch of ribs – and then the thing howled as green fire caught it and it _melted,_ blackened putridity shrivelling from the bone into ash.

Schuldich breathed hard, stared at the mess on the ground, then lifted his head to stare at Reno. "The _fuck?_" he said.

"Cure spell, second level," Reno said, looking nonchalant. "The energy of healing materia is pure lifeforce, see? So if you cast it on the walking undead, _paradoxically_ it damages them, because it cancels out the negative energy that binds them to the earth as hollow shells of humanity, ravening for the taste of warm bodies they once enjoyed." There was a pause. Reno registered the look on Schuldich's face and added defensively, "Well, _I_ always thought that was nifty."

Schuldich shook his head. "To hell with this shit," he said. "We're obviously still closer to where you were than where I'm--"

_MUUUUUSSSTFEEEEED_

"Aw, fuck, not again," he said, at the same time as Reno yelled, "Look out!" He turned just as another stench-wave hit him, making him gag. The zombie was raising a rusty sword with hands that were half bleached-white bone. Schuldich ducked, and the blade rammed into the crate that had been behind his head. Bits of wood exploded outward. "Goddamned fucking--"

Reno made a gesture, and the zombie was suddenly engulfed in Cure-fire, its half-mental shriek drilling through Schuldich's head as it dissolved into sludge. There was another directly behind as it fell, lifting leathery bandaged arms and whispering. Schuldich swore again, grabbed two bottles from the newly broken crate and brought them down smartly over the mummy's head. It fell, and Reno incinerated it.

"Come on," he said, "you didn't have to do that. I had it under control."

"Uhuh," Schuldich said. "Sure you did. Master of the Living Dead you are."

"It's a waste of good wine is all I'm saying." Reno was glancing around corners, nightstick at the ready. "Cellar like this, must be one helluva vintage. You think it's clear?"

"Yeah... What? Oh, no," Schuldich said. He toed the nasty puddle on the ground. "This stuff is plonk. _Vin de pays._ That's, like, a step up from jug wine."

"Shiva knows how long it's been aged plonk?"

"It doesn't keep anyways." Schuldich narrowed his eyes at the exit above. Cheap new wine meant to be chugged, abandoned in the cellar in a hurry. No one had been down here in years. No one alive, at any rate. And yet the torches burned. He felt prodigiously disinclined toward further exploration.

Reno was tucking bottles under his arm. "I'll take my chances," he said. "So we're off?"

Schuldich nodded, and took the box from him. "Have we still got an estimate?" he asked, squinting at the dial.

"Pick a number," Reno said, shrugging. "Any number..."

There was a moment of _green_-ness: a flash of colour in peripheral vision, a flicker of movement among shadows. And then the room was empty.

After a few moments the torches went out.


End file.
